


the teddy bear cure

by Hymn



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Blow Job, HAHAHAHAHA D;, M/M, Nightmares, Power Play, Sex on a Throne, Spelling: Conrad, Trust Issues, Underage - Freeform, and his attempts to fix them, conrad's terrible life choices, early 40s of the anime episodes, mild D/s themes, pls lemme know if i missed any tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-24
Updated: 2007-04-24
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:17:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: The call of duty is one that Conrad has never ignored. He’s not about to start, now.





	the teddy bear cure

**Author's Note:**

> springkink prompt
> 
> i still haven't forgiven myself for this title

For about a week after they get Conrad back, Yuuri has terrible nightmares. Wolfram grumbles beneath a tangled fall of blonde hair, with sleepy, snapping eyes, “You wimp. He’s back. Why are you fussing now?”

“I don’t know!” Yuuri knocks the heel of his palm against his forehead a few times, with a sheepish grimace. “Sorry, Wolfram. I don’t mean to- Hey! What am I saying? Go sleep in your own bed!”

Wolfram gives a haughty sniff, and rolls over in a flutter of pink lace and cream skin, and Yuuri kind of twitches, glaring sulkily as the demon prince settles like a cat deep in the covers. “I’m sleeping,” Wolfram says, eyes closed. “I can’t hear your wimpy whining. So give it up and go to bed.”

“Argh.”

When Wolfram begins to snore, and Yuuri has traced entire masterpieces across the dark, frosted glass of his arched windows, he does finally give it up. His mind is in a state of feeling like empty white fuzz, and all he wants is to sleep. It’s been a _week_ , and he hasn’t gotten more than an hour or two snatched here and there – usually in inappropriate places, in fact.

“Argh,” he moans pathetically, and tiptoe staggers his way out of his room, leaving a peacefully sleeping prince behind him. Not quite how Wolfram wanted Yuuri to give up, but the only option Yuuri could imagine taking and still be able to keep his homicide record clean. 

Out in the hallway it’s colder than in Yuuri’s room, but Yuuri’s started to become accustomed to the cold, especially cold like this, a soothing, wet damp that used to chill his bones and make him ache. Now it settles like cool peace along his limbs, and Yuuri, in his sleep-deprived state, feels he can almost make out the moisture fanning down off his shoulders into wide, sweeping sleeves, like a soft-dark yukata. 

He wanders the halls peacefully enough, even starting to hum a little as he gets himself happily lost. It’s a few hours from dawn, and Yuuri is only just beginning to wonder at the curious lack of guards – and be thankful for it; they may have frog marched him back in bed, or something. Was it breaking some obscure demon code to wander around one’s castle at night with bare toes? – when a voice comes out of the quiet darkness, and just about gives Yuuri a heart attack.

“Your Majesty.”

“GAH.” Yuuri claps a hand over his heart, turns sharply and almost falls. Conrad catches his arm easily in a gentle, capable grip, and tugs him back firmly onto his own feet. Yuuri blinks wide black eyes up at him, his brain taking a little while to catch up with his rapidly beating heart.

“Your Majesty,” Conrad tries again, with a small quirk of a smile, and dark eyes half hidden in the dim light. “What are you doing out here, at this late hour? You should be sleeping.”

“…Oh?” Yuuri takes a deep breath, smelling the night and the stone and the damp around them, and the pleasant musk of Conrad, there, where he hadn’t been before. It makes his stomach tighten, and his lungs can’t seem to expand without effort. He tries to play it off, the way that Conrad makes him half-mad with desperation just at the sight of him, now. He scoffs, saying, “I never would have guessed, You Who Named Me. Is that why there’s no sun?”

Conrad is silent for a moment, long enough for Yuuri’s heart to start pounding again. Yuuri isn’t sure if it’s fear or need that makes him tremble, but looking up at Conrad’s tall, neat figure, his sharp, sweet face and gentle eyes, makes Yuuri’s face hurt with the force of his smile.

“No,” Conrad says, quietly and half to himself. “There’s plenty of sun, right here.” His fingers are quick and efficient as he unbuttons his jacket, and slides it off his broad shoulders. It’s huge on Yuuri, which makes him sigh and wrinkle his nose ruefully. But he’s grateful, anyway.

“Come, Your Majesty. You’ve been out here long enough. Time to get you back to bed.”

“It’s Yuuri,” Yuuri points out, narrowing his eyes at Conrad in as intimidating a fashion a teenage boy much accustomed to laughter can. Conrad smiles, charmed, and presses one hand gently against Yuuri’s back to get him moving. “And how do you know how long I’ve been out here? For all you know I could have been getting a drink! Or maybe I heard something and came out to check and there was a lone ninja, and I had to follow him to make sure he didn’t- didn’t-”

“Didn’t what, Your Majesty?”

“…Didn’t hurt you again,” Yuuri says, thoughtfully, allowing himself to be led where Conrad’s hand directs. The hallway is smooth and cool against his bare feet, and his eyelids are drooping, and there’s an electric peace that ripples over him, the focal point being Conrad’s strong, square hand at his back. 

There may be a hint of gray on the horizon, but Yuuri isn’t sure if he can trust his sight anymore, because between one moment and the next, Conrad looks kind of torn between miserable and glorious, before he’s just Conrad again. 

The man’s voice is steady when he asks his next question. “Why do you have nightmares, Your Majesty?”

To be honest, Yuuri doesn’t really have to think very hard about the answer. He’s had plenty of time to think in the past seven days, after all. But it’s still a touch embarrassing; no teenage boy wants to admit that he’s having nightmares, especially because of such a stupidly backwards reason. But it’s Conrad, and Yuuri can trust Conrad not to laugh, even if his fellow half-demon won’t understand.

He makes the attempt. “Because I feel safe, here.”

“…Pardon, Your Majesty?”

Yuuri sticks his tongue out at Conrad, and mutters, “It’s _Yuuri_ , damn it. And I said it’s ‘cause I feel safe. You’re here, and I can…I dunno. I can let my guard down. You promised me you wouldn’t leave again, remember?” Without thought, Yuuri reaches out, somehow manages to wrestle his hand out of Conrad’s jacket sleeve, and grips Conrad’s shirt, tightly. “You promised.”

“And so I did,” says Conrad with gentle fondness.

“I feel safer with you by my side.” Yuuri chuckles ruefully. “Some King I am. I need a teddy bear to feel safe.”

Conrad snorts a laugh, and tries half-heartedly to pass it off as a cough. Yuuri nudges him in the side with a grin, feeling light as a feather to be able to do so. It shouldn’t be so novel having Conrad at his side, and though Yuuri had thought he’d been doing a good job at not taking for granted the people who cared for and protected him, he hadn’t realized until Conrad was gone just how vitally important the man was. 

Conrad pauses them before large double doors, and has to use both hands to heave them open. Yuuri tilts his head curiously at them, even as he steps lightly forward to help. Which isn’t, in fact, a good idea, because Conrad knows just the right amount of strength needed to open the doors without falling inside, and Yuuri quickly overbalances them. 

“Aw, man,” Yuuri mutters, wincing from where he’s sprawled on his rear. The floor is cool, which isn’t all that different or jarring, but it’s hard, and there’s not _that_ much cushion back there, damn it. When Conrad chokes on a laugh, Yuuri has to admit, sheepishly, that this is slightly ridiculous. “Er, sorry?” 

“No need to be, Your Majesty.” Conrad picks himself up off the hard floor easily, and then turns with a warm smile to pull Yuuri up as well. Yuuri takes his hand happily, and ignores the way his pulse flutters and his skin tingles as Conrad pats him down gently. “You are unharmed?”

“I’m fine, He Who Gave Me My Name.” Eventually even Conrad is bound to get tired of the different variations, and give it up, and just call him by his given name. _Surely_. Yuuri plants his fists on his hips, even though his ass is still throbbing, and grins through the gloom at his knight. “I’m a demon king! That was nothing!”

Conrad’s smile is a beautiful thing, especially when the lines around his eyes are relaxed, and his shoulders are loosely elegant, half curved around Yuuri. “So nice to see that Your Majesty is so resilient. I’ll remember that next time we spar.”

“…Aw, crap.”

“Mm.” Conrad’s smile is a beautifully demonic thing, Yuuri redecides sullenly. “Now, here we go, Your Majesty. You can rest here, for a while.”

Here happens to be the throne room. _Yikes_ , Yuuri thinks, balking at the long line of the high-vaulted room. He doesn’t get how he missed the echoes, but, to his shame, he did; and how the floor is a smooth marble beneath his bare feet. It’s colder than the damp chill of stone, for some reason. Conrad is already walking up the steps to the throne itself, large and red and rather modestly ornate, considering. 

Yuuri almost finds it tasteful, but that could be because it’s half-hidden in the dark. There’s a moon that shines through the many floor to ceiling high domed windows, but all it does is give hints, here and there, their world in shadows and fairy light.

“Conraaaaad! No way. Nu uh. Why are we here?”

Conrad shrugs, with that polite, nearly enigmatic yet strangely endearing smile of his on his face, still. “I thought that you might want to get acquainted with it, here, when there aren’t so many people. You’re becoming more and more the Maou, Yuuri, and soon this throne should be like a second home to you. You will receive petitions here, and greet foreign dignities, and hold grand parties, if you like.”

“Gah,” Yuuri moans, dragging his feet reluctantly up the steps after Conrad, feeling strangely like an inexorable force is pulling him. There’s something oddly appealing about Conrad standing next to Yuuri’s throne, hand on the red arm, waiting for Yuuri to take his seat, smiling trustingly at him.

Perhaps it’s that last thing that makes Yuuri straighten, look at the plush velvet of the throne cushion with a serious brow. When he says, “It’s a lot to expect,” his voice is very small, and very quiet.

“I know. But you can do it, Your Majesty.”

Yuuri’s hand is lingering on the edge of the arm rest, feeling the soft brush of fabric beneath his fingertips; it’s like a branding heat up his arm, waking in him all sorts of doubts and hopes and dreams and fears. He glances up at Conrad, still frowning, uncertain. 

Conrad stands there, waiting for Yuuri, trusting that Yuuri will make the right choice, will not disappoint him. Yuuri wants to make him proud, wants to be worthy of having Conrad at his side. Maybe then, Conrad will never leave him again.

He opens his mouth in the dark without thought, and says the thing he feels, which is, “I am so selfish.”

His hand curls away from the arm, into a tight ball, and he’s shaking in Conrad’s large military jacket, heart aching from how tender Conrad’s brown eyes look in the moonlight. “Is that so wrong?”

“Yes.” Yuuri frowns, and adds, “No. I mean. I’m not a god, you know? I’m not some all-powerful being. I’m not perfect. But I can’t just be a regular guy. I can’t afford to be selfish. A King is for his people.” Yuuri’s voice rings pure with his conviction. He doesn’t know a lot, but this, at least, he knows with an iron wrought faith that burns rushes as unstoppable as a river inside of him; it resonates with his soul. “I cannot be selfish to them.”

Conrad is smiling through the shadows, his eyes shining, and when he gives a small, but deeply respectful bow, Yuuri doesn’t even get flustered by it, it looks so natural coming from his protector. “I knew you could do it, Yuuri.”

“Do wha- …oh.” Yuuri’s not certain whether to be surprised or not when he gets it, but he’s feeling peaceful enough that he can let his entire being open up in gratitude, like a flower blooming golden in the sun, shining in the gloom, and tell Conrad, “Thank you,” and mean multitudes more than those mere two words.

“My pleasure, Your Majesty. Now, go ahead. Sit.”

“All right,” says Yuuri. The seat is big, like Conrad’s coat, but it doesn’t so much drown him, as comfort him, cradle him in lots of warmth and room to grow. It’s pleasant, and Yuuri curves back into it like a small child, pulling his legs up, and tucking his feet beneath him. Not very kingly, he thinks; but then, you’ve got to start somewhere.

There’s blessed, peaceful silence for nearly a minute, before Yuuri can’t take it, and breaks. “So, uh, why are we here?”

Looking down the long hall of the throne room, Conrad takes his time in replying, face quietly serious. “I believe we needed to talk.” There are currents in his voice that Yuuri is only just beginning to hear, and slowly unravel to comprehend their secret twists and feints. “And I believed that this was the best place to do it.”

“Conrad?”

Ignoring him, Conrad turns, and kneels beside the throne, at Yuuri’s feet. His head comes up just above the armrests, and his cheek is so near Yuuri’s hand that the black haired boy could reach out, and stroke it. Yuuri’s hand nearly spasms with the urge, but he keeps it stubbornly still, his gaze incredulous.

“Conrad, what-?”

“Your Majesty, I hope you will forgive any offense my candid manner may cause-”

“But Conrad, I _always_ want you to be honest with me!”

“However,” the half-demon continues without pause, or hint that he has heard Yuuri. His damnable smile is still present, and Yuuri is getting nervous. “This is necessary, I believe.” 

Then Conrad takes a deep breath, and Yuuri knows he’s in deep shit if _Conrad_ has to brace himself. But he has to give Conrad the benefit of the doubt, return that same trust Conrad has given to him. It’s a twofold thing, Yuuri knows, just like the battery. He can do this, just like Conrad believes fully that he can; he’ll wait it out, and do his best.

“You’re having nightmares now because of me, correct?”

“Er.” Yuuri winces at that blunt phrasing. “Not…exactly?”

“Close enough,” Conrad smiles. “It’s because I’m here that you feel safe enough to let your guard down, to be vulnerable enough to have nightmares.”

Yuuri nods, his cheeks flushing. “Damn teddy bear,” he mumbles, and maybe Conrad’s smile widens, a little, or shines brighter in his brown eyes, but that’s all the attention he gives the comment.

“What are your nightmares about?”

Now that, that is something that Yuuri is even more reluctant to reveal, but he was imagining things earlier: dawn isn’t touching the horizon at all, and it’s like they’re the only people living in a wide, empty world. Yuuri’s attention narrows and focuses and hangs tightly on Conrad’s intensity, and he only stumbles a little in embarrassment as he says, “You’re wearing Shimaron colors when you should be wearing mine.”

Conrad ducks his head, silent for a time, as though to shift and fold his emotions behind a calm expression. “I thought so,” he says in a dark, and self-loathing voice, and Yuuri smacks his hand down on the armrest, slides his legs down, feet planted on the floor, and leans over Conrad so that Conrad has no choice but to listen.

“ _It is not your fault_.”

Conrad’s eyes widen, staring up at Yuuri, and then his mouth quirks into what is almost a smirk, and he lets his head roll forward again, the set of his shoulders something like the dangerous swordsman when he fights, rather than the gentle man who named him. Yuuri is not afraid, though. He reaches out his hand, now, and threads his fingers through Conrad’s hair, unable to resist.

When he speaks, he speaks plainly, raw from the heart, his emotions dragged over the words and catching on them like they are barbed. “I just…I just don’t want to lose you again, damn it! That hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” Conrad sighs, and leans into the timid caress of Yuuri’s hand. “Will you not take justice?”

“What justice?” Yuuri asks, confused and nervous. There’s a tightness in his chest, and he’s much hotter than the cool night has any right to leave him. His fingers tighten in Conrad’s hair, just a little, and the man smiles again.

“Take what is yours.”

“…I. _What_?”

Yuuri is positively mortified at how high and squeaky his voice sounds right then, especially when it’s couple with Conrad’s deep, smooth laugh. His hand falls away, but Conrad catches it, raises it tentatively to his mouth. Yuuri is shocked breathless, watching the agonizingly slow movements, how Conrad presses his mouth reverently to his wrist. 

“Take what is yours.”

There’s something in his voice that makes Yuuri look into his eyes once more, and in them he sees an uncharacteristic nervousness, a willingness to trust but a fear that it might not be enough, that this blind leap of faith may leave Conrad a mangled mess even worse than when he lost his arm.

Yuuri thinks about it, realizes that heat is flashing through him, and that he is already half hard at just the merest suggestion. Obviously, he _wants_ this, and badly too. It would be wrong of him to misplace Conrad’s trust, though, and so he swallows, and glares, and takes his arm back to cross both across his chest, and say, “No.”

Conrad’s face begins to close, and Yuuri, very quickly, finishes his statement.

“It must be freely given, and freely received. Not taken.”

Yuuri doesn’t wonder why that makes Conrad make a noise like he’s broken, and thinks it the most terrifyingly amazing thing that has ever occurred to him; he just cherishes that Conrad is there with him to make it, and that he himself caused it. “But-”

“You don’t have to do this,” Yuuri says, softly, dropping his eyes with an embarrassed smile. “Just because…Well.” He clears his throat, and shifts. He’s fully hard now, and his pajamas don’t really hide anything, even in the shadows. He hunches his shoulders, and places his hands in front of him strategically. “I’m a teenager, you know? We start up at anything. And, um. You don’t have to. I’m not…I’m not that selfish, remember? I’m _not_.

“Besides,” he adds, voice quiet with a sense of confused, entangled tragedy. “There’s Wolfram.”

At his feet, Conrad sighs, and settles more comfortably on his heels; his hands reach up, and radiate searing heat where they lay across Yuuri’s knees. Yuuri eyes them in dismay. 

“Don’t underestimate my brother, Your Majesty.” Conrad smiles, to take the sting from the words, eyes calm, and almost complacent looking. “He’s strong, he’d get past it. Besides, our duty is, first and foremost, to you. We serve you, and protect you. And if this is what your teddy bear must do to ease the nightmares he caused, then he will do so gladly.” 

“No!” Yuuri snaps, and is too angry to be startled by it. “I don’t want to just be your duty, damn it! I’m not just Your Majesty, I’m not.”

Conrad’s smile is painfully tender, and his voice heartbreakingly gentle, and Yuuri, for a moment, thinks he might cry. “My life is my duty, Yuuri,” Yuuri’s breath hitches at the solid trust that is all he can see in Conrad’s eyes, now, “and you, my king, are my life.”

Yuuri can’t move as Conrad stretches up, lithe like a cat, his muscles rippling beneath his thin shirt. His hands stay where they are on Yuuri’s knees, steady points of heat and want. Against Yuuri’s lips, Conrad whispers, “I choose this freely.”

Yuuri makes a choked noise, and is helpless against Conrad’s kiss; he melts against him, opens his mouth for Conrad’s seeking tongue, drinks him down hungrily. This is what he’s been wanting for he doesn’t know how long, the need lurking just on the edge of everything. His fingers are caught up in the short, spiky strands of Conrad’s hair, and he spreads his legs wider, pulling Conrad closer, leaning over and against him. Heat throbs through him, building.

Pulling back, slow and reluctantly, Conrad says, “Let me be your one selfish thing, freely given. I am yours, and I will never leave you again, I promise.” His hands move up, slowly, thumbs circling teasingly along Yuuri’s inner thighs. Yuuri moans, lost and helpless and overwhelmed. The plush velvet of his red, red throne envelops him as he arches against the sudden, firm touch against his erection. 

Conrad’s eyes are an eager, hungry question; Yuuri knows he’d stop immediately if Yuuri gave the word, but all Yuuri can do is brace himself so he can lift his hips off the seat cushion, and help Conrad pull his pants down around his ankles. 

“Let me melt away your nightmares,” whispers Conrad, and his voice is a sweet, soothing honey glide twining through Yuuri’s libido, thickening and strengthening everything Yuuri is feeling. All Yuuri can think is, _Oh god, my first blowjob, yes_! and _I really hope we don’t leave stains on the throne; that’d be hell to explain_ before his entire brain explodes into a white rush of chaos; of his pounding, too full heart, the impossible task of expanding and contracting his lungs, and the need to tell Conrad how good it feels, how wonderful he is. 

How much he loves him.

When Yuuri bows his head and bites his lip and comes into that wet heat, the sight and feel of Conrad swallowing down Yuuri’s cock, there are tears to tangle his dark eyelashes. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever known to have Conrad lean up, press his forehead gently against Yuuri’s, and hum in satisfaction. Conrad is definitely there, now, he’s real and really _with_ Yuuri, no doubts about it at all, and by the carefully restrained, but still possessive and needy way Conrad is pressing against the red crush of velvet, and rubbing his fingers over Yuuri’s thighs, Yuuri rather thinks that he’ll be staying there for a good, long time.

“Somehow,” Yuuri cracks out through a clumsy smile, voice thick with wonder and a boneless feeling of languor. “You always wind up saving me.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty” returns Conrad, eyes sparking in mischief. “Sometimes, it seems that the only thing protecting us all is you. Me most of all.” He leans closer, presses a kiss to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

“And you belong here, now, right? With me?”

It’s a bold question to ask, but Yuuri’s always been reckless like this. He still doesn’t know what to do about Wolfram, no matter what Conrad says, but somehow they missed the start of gray start of dawn, and now it’s a rosy, beautiful glow over hills and trees in the distance. 

“Yes,” Conrad says, simply. “At your side, always.”

Yuuri takes in a long, deep breath, holds it, and lets it out on a smile so happy it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack his face right through. “Then that’s thanks enough.” He laughs, softly, and tentatively wriggles out of Conrad’s jacket, so he can slide his hands own Conrad’s chest, and stomach, and down to his persistent need. Teasingly, he adds, “And maybe now I can get some rest. Snuggled with my teddy bear, of course.”

“Of course,” Conrad grits out, before he’s utterly lost on a heartfelt moan.


End file.
